


Back on the Chain Gang

by JeannieMac



Category: Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeannieMac/pseuds/JeannieMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Eames returns to work after maternity leave (during which she was a surrogate mom for her sister). Things are changing between her and Goren, and neither of them really knows what to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The genesis for this story was the fact that I've always wanted to know what went on when Bobby met Alex's nephew for the first time, and I've never seen a fic that covered it satisfactorily (if you know of one, please send me a link - I'm always keen to see how other people imagine these things...!). So I wrote my own version.

“Don’t _coddle_ me, Bobby!”

It comes out even more harshly than she’d meant it to. Her partner flinches, and looks away.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and goes back to his examination. They’re investigating an art theft at a trendy gallery on the Upper East Side – a case that was looking pretty run-of-the-mill, until they arrived at the scene and found the white walls of the gallery slashed and defaced, covered in viciously racist graffiti.

“The hate…it’s palpable,” Bobby said. Alex only nodded, feeling sick.

_So much for an easy case to smooth the back-to-work transition_ , she thought wearily.

She has actually been back from maternity leave for almost a month, but the Captain has had her on mandatory desk duty for most of that. Her first case back in the field had started things off with a bang, literally – bank robbers with fake bombs, which escalated to real ones, and she’d almost shot a suspect in the street. But then she and Bobby had pulled off a neat trick in interrogation to get Margery and her not-so-charming prince to confess, and she’d thought – _we’re okay, we’re finding the old rhythm again._

But it’s actually been hard, so much harder than she thought it would be, to get back to normal with her partner. “Your telepathy’s a little rusty,” the captain had joked the other day when she and Bobby stumbled over some question he had asked them, and they’d both stiffened as the jibe hit too close to home to be funny. She tries to tell herself that it’s normal – of course they have to relearn each others’ cues and patterns of thought and ways of functioning on the job…but she’s fighting the sinking feeling that they’ll never recapture the way things were before her maternity leave – that maybe it’s been too long and maybe they’ve changed too much, or at least she has, to get back on the same wavelength.

_You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone,_ she thinks, rolling her eyes at the cliché but unable to ignore the stab of longing that comes with it.

And god, she’s tired, always tired these days. Intellectually she knows that this is normal, that it will just take time for her to get her energy and stamina back to pre-pregnancy levels…but it’s just so goddamn _frustrating._ Not to mention the way everyone’s watching her – fine, the way Bobby’s constantly watching her… _If he’d just stop treating me like I might break, we might actually be able to get our old focus back_ , she thinks grouchily and unfairly. Deakins is doing it too, but he’s more discreet (or maybe he just doesn’t have as many opportunities as Bobby does to let her know without words that he thinks she’s overdoing it) – and, she admits guiltily, she can’t get away with taking out her frustration on her boss the way she can with her partner.

She sighs, contemplating his back as he bends to peer at one of the hateful epithets, scratching at it with a fingernail. _I shouldn’t have sounded so angry,_ she thinks. _All he did was ask if I wanted to sit down – and he even waited till the gallery owner was gone to do it._

Later, in the elevator on the way back up to the squad room at One PP, she takes a deep breath and touches his arm.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, earlier.”

He looks at her with shuttered eyes. “It’s all right, Eames.”

But she can tell that it isn’t, so she tries to explain. “I just – I’m tired a lot, these days, you know that. But that’s normal, and it’ll pass. I don’t want you to feel like you have to – to worry about me.”

He lets out a short, sharp laugh with no humour in it at all.

“What?” she says defensively.

“I worry,” he says with emphasis. “There isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

He gives her a hard look and she flushes, embarrassed, annoyed and touched all at once.

“But that’s not the point,” he continues. “I thought…” He makes a frustrated gesture and falls silent.

“What?” she says again, more gently. Now he’s staring at his feet, and won’t look up.

“I thought – you and I, I thought we’d gotten to a point…a point where it was okay for us to…to take care of each other, a little.”

_Oh._

Suddenly she feels like they’ve stepped onto a patch of quicksand, and she casts wildly around for the right thing to say to get them back on solid familiar ground…all the while trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that’s saying _wait, what does he mean by that, exactly?_

“But maybe I was wrong,” Bobby says flatly into the silence. “It’s fine, Eames – just forget it.”

And then the elevator doors open, and he’s out in the hallway before she can say anything. The captain waves them into his office for an update and by the time they get back to their desks, there are calls and e-mails to return and interviews to set up…and it’s all too easy to abandon the conversation indefinitely.

_Coward,_ says the annoying little voice in her head. _He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t._

Looking back on the end of her pregnancy and the weeks after her delivery when she was still recovering at home, she has to admit that maybe there was a shift in their relationship, so subtle that, at the time, she couldn’t be certain that anything had actually changed in any fundamental way. But it had: somehow they’d become friends who were colleagues, instead of the other way round…and she’d welcomed it, and not questioned the possible consequences.

She’d needed a friend, that was the simple truth – as difficult as it was for her to acknowledge sometimes. More than that, she’d needed Bobby, who knew her well and was so uncannily perceptive. _Yeah, when you find it hard to admit you even have feelings, let alone understand them or put them into words, it’s handy to have a genius profiler around._

And once or twice, looking at the available evidence, she’d let herself admit that, maybe, he needed her too – and not just in ways related to the job.

So towards the end of her leave they’d been…hanging out…more, for lack of a better term. But they were still Goren and Eames, they still mostly talked about work, and she hadn’t even been sure he’d noticed the shift, or cared.

But who was she kidding? Of course he had, and since she’s been back on the job he’s been looking at her with those worried, grateful eyes, and how is she supposed to say _I need you to turn the friendship thing off now, please? It’s an unstable element, and I don’t know what it will do to our professional relationship…_

She tries to imagine the conversation. _Look, Bobby, remember how Collins over at the Five-Two once asked us how we do that Vulcan mind meld thing in interrogation? Well, the Vulcans were all about not letting emotion get in the way…_

_Crap._

*****

At the end of their third day on the art gallery case, she’s feeling grey and worn and powerless. _Already. That’s just great._ Bobby, who has spent most of the day reading blog postings full of neo-Nazi hate propaganda in an effort to pin down their perp, is red-eyed, twitchy and haunted. She looks at him over the piles of paperwork on their desks and finds him staring dully at nothing, pencil tapping frantically.

"That's it," she says, startling him out of his daze. "We're done for today, Bobby. Time to sign off."

“Oh.” He looks vaguely around, not meeting her eyes. “Right.”

“I’m going to my sister’s for dinner – I’ll give you a ride home,” she offers. He scrubs at his face and abruptly stands up, fumbling for his coat.

“It’s okay, Eames, you don’t have to – go be with your family. I’ll be fine.”

_Sure you will._ She rolls her eyes behind his back, shrugging her coat on as they head for the elevator. _God, I am so tired_ , she thinks, briefly considering calling her sister and bailing on dinner in favour of a long bath and early bedtime. But she knows she needs to see her family and hold her nephew and remember that there’s colour and warmth in the world.

She winds her scarf around her neck and looks sideways at Bobby as the doors ding shut. He’s leaning against the elevator wall with his eyes closed, and she can see his hand twitching in his coat pocket, the same hand that had been tapping the pencil. She knows that if she drops him at home he’ll probably end up back at the computer within the hour, too tired to make sense of anything but unable to stop looking regardless.

She pulls out her cell phone and hits speed dial 2.

“Hi Jen, it’s me. Yeah, I’m on my way. Hey – any chance Mike’s making enough for one more?” Pause. “I might bring Bobby, if you guys don’t mind. We’re in the middle of a really rough case – we could both use a home-cooked meal.”

Beside her, Bobby straightens up. “Eames, no, I don’t –

She waves a hand, cutting him off. “Thanks. We’ll be there in half an hour.” She clicks the phone shut and meets his protesting look.

“She says if you’re willing to risk Mike’s cooking, you’re more than welcome. He’s making spaghetti, so you’re probably safe.”

“I’m not a charity case – I can get my own dinner, Eames!” he says sharply.

“I know. But tonight, you’re going to let Jen and Mike feed you spaghetti.”

“This is your family time,” he says stubbornly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Bobby. If it was an imposition, I wouldn’t be offering.” She grips his arm, shaking it a bit. “Come on – they’re a cop’s family. They know what it’s like, coming off a case like this. They’ll give you a stiff drink and lots of food and you won’t even have to make conversation unless you feel like it.”

He removes his arm from her grasp. “Thanks, but I don’t need to be _coddled_.”

_Ouch_.

It’s not like him to snipe like that, at least not at her. Her remark the other day must have really hurt him, she realizes. She swallows hard, guilt and worry bitter on her tongue, and keeps her voice light with an effort.

“Hey, I apologized for that.” Pause. _Not enough, Alex. Stop being such a coward_.

“Look, Bobby – what you said before – you were right, okay? We have – we are –

But she can’t find the right words, not when he’s walking so stiffly beside her, refusing to meet her eyes. Embarrassed and exasperated, she plays her last card.

“Look, just come to dinner. You haven’t met my nephew yet, and I’d like you to.”

They’re out of the elevator now, walking through the parking garage. He stops and looks at her carefully. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” And it’s the truth – she’s surprised by how much, all of a sudden, she wants him to see Owen. He’s seen photos, of course – but she put him off when he offered to visit her in the hospital the day after her delivery.

“You hate hospitals,” she’d reminded him – but really, she was afraid of what would happen if he showed up and looked at her with his penetrating eyes, in front of Jen and Mike and her parents and the baby. She knew it would be like the emperor’s new clothes, she’d be revealed in all her turmoil – to him, to herself, to everyone.

_And I was right, wasn’t I?_ She _had_ fallen apart a little, when eventually he did come and visit her at home - but at least he’d been the only one there to see it. She squirms inwardly at the memory, which is coloured with that same peculiar mix of embarrassment and affection and uncertainty that seems to pervade a lot of her thinking about Bobby lately – _when he’s not being a crabby, stubborn bastard, that is_.

He looks at her narrowly across the roof of her car. “I’m not going to be very good company,” he warns.

She pushes her breath out in an exasperated hiss. “Whatever,” she mutters. “Let’s go.”

*******


	2. Chapter 2

The drive over to her sister's place is mostly silent. The occasional sideways glance at Bobby reveals him leaning back in his seat, staring blankly out the window, hand tapping against his knee, then against the door. _God, I hope this wasn't a bad idea_ , Alex thinks.

When they get to the house, Jen has the door open while they're still walking up the front path.

“Hey Al...how are you?”

“I've had better days,” she says, family code for _not so great, but I don't really want to talk about it._

Jen's hug is tighter than usual just for a second, but she keeps her voice light.

“Got it – comfort food and baby therapy, right this way.”

She holds out her hand to Bobby, hanging back on the doorstep. “Hi, Bobby. It's good to see you.”

He fumbles his leather portfolio from one hand to the other to return her handshake.

“Hi, Jen. Thanks for having me.”

Jen waves them inside. “Don't even mention it. Um, Alex?”

“What?”

“I know you were expecting a quiet dinner with just us and Owen…” Jen is looking sheepish and Alex feels her heart sink.

“Oh, brother. Who’s here?”

Before her sister can answer, the kitchen door opens, and it's full of people and cooking smells and noise, and she stumbles, blinking, feeling Bobby flinch behind her. _Whoa. Too many people._

“Alex!” That’s her mom, pulling her into a hug.

“Mom, hi. I didn’t know you and Dad were going to be here…” She tries to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Well – we’ve hardly seen you since you went back to work, so we thought we’d better seize the opportunity,” says her mom brightly. Alex thinks there’s probably an accusation in there somewhere, but she’s too tired even to feel guilty, and anyway her mom has already moved on to Bobby. He looks slightly shell-shocked, but before she can catch his eye to apologize for dragging him into this chaos, she’s waylaid again.

“Hey, sis – how are you?” It’s Chris, her oldest brother, followed closely by his wife Molly, loud and gratingly welcoming, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“Alex! You look great – have you lost weight?”

_Considering I had just given birth last time you saw me, I’d say it was a safe bet…_

“Actually, yes,” is all she says, struggling to keep her voice neutral. Molly tends to bring out the worst of Alex’s snark, possibly because sarcasm so often seems to slide off her brash, oblivious friendliness like water off a duck’s back. _Shut up and be nice,_ she tells her inner voice. Bobby, watching from across the kitchen where her dad is pouring him a drink, meets her eyes with an almost imperceptible flicker of amusement, as though he can hear the conversation she’s having with herself.

“You’re working on that art gallery case?” her dad is saying. “Sounds like a tough one.”

“Yes sir,” says Bobby briefly.

“Well – have a drink and let my circus of a family distract you for a while.”

Bobby actually chuckles, although it comes out sort of rusty and garbled-sounding, like he hasn’t used those particular vocal muscles in a while.

“Hey, Dad.” They both turn towards her, and her father pulls her in for a one-armed hug.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head as she leans into him briefly, conscious of Bobby still watching her with unreadable eyes. It strikes her that he’s probably profiling her in this new environment – cataloguing her relationships with her entire family – and she wonders what he sees, and if she’s really ready for him to see it.

She can’t think about it for long, though, because Molly has followed her and is still talking about how it took her _years_ to lose the weight she gained after having their two girls, and how on earth did Alex manage it in just a couple of months?

“I don’t know – lots of trips to the gym, I guess,” Alex says with false heartiness. “Had to get back in shape…kind of a job requirement and all that. But speaking of babies – where’s Owen?”

 _Talk about your awkward transitions_. She cringes inwardly, hoping she’s the only one who heard the tinge of desperation in her voice. Bobby looks over at her, and she can tell he at least has registered it – not that that should surprise her. Jen rescues them both.

“He’s conked out on the couch in the living room – come on in and say hi. You too, Bobby – you haven’t met him yet, have you?”

“Um, no.” He sounds nervous, she realizes with amusement, as they follow Jen into the hallway. Alex lets her breath out in a sigh of relief at the sudden quiet. Jen looks back at her ruefully.

“Sorry. I couldn’t really keep Mom and Dad away – and, well, Molly called this afternoon and I accidentally let slip that you were coming over…and she started going on and on about how she and Chris hadn’t seen you since Owen was born…”

“It’s okay,” says Alex, trying to sound like she means it. “It’s – good to see everyone. It’s just – you know, a lot of people, and I’m tired.”

“I know. You guys should just hang out in here with Owen for a bit – let us get dinner on the table.”

Alex is already lowering herself gently down on the couch, where Owen is sprawled in the curve of a nursing pillow, breathing gently under a yellow blanket. She is barely aware of Jen moving towards the door, as she extends a finger and gently touches her nephew’s small hand.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says softly, watching the way his little fingers curl around her touch, even in sleep. She feels some of the tension of the day start to loosen, finally, and looks up to find Bobby standing as if frozen by the door.

“Come closer,” she says with a small smile. “He won’t bite.”

He moves into the room, hesitates and then awkwardly crouches down in front of the couch.

“Hi, Owen,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

He stretches out a large hand and gently touches the baby’s head.

“Wow.” He looks back up at her with a small, awed smile.

She smiles back. “Yeah.”

“He’s – beautiful, Eames.”

“It’s possible that I’m biased, but I’d have to agree.”

Bobby goes back to staring at Owen, but she can tell he’s got more to say. A pause, then,

“I – congratulations doesn’t seem quite right.”

She snorts. “Yeah – Hallmark doesn’t really make a card for surrogate moms. It’s all right – you don’t need to say anything.”

“No, I do,” he insists. He expels a frustrated breath. “I just – can’t think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound trivial or - or patronizing.”

He reaches out again, touching the baby’s hand with one finger, and she’s struck by the look on his face – open, gentle, a sort of yearning.

“I mean – you brought this child into the world. That’s – it’s amazing.”

She draws in a breath. “Thanks.”

He looks up quickly at the catch in her voice, and she swallows hard, smiling at him shakily. _Thank you,_ she says again silently, and he relaxes, subsiding to sit cross-legged on the floor. He props his head up with an elbow on the couch cushion next to Owen, and they both sit there watching the baby sleep.

She didn’t expect this, before she had Owen – how utterly fascinating she would find him, even though he wasn’t her child. She would never have thought it possible that she would want to sit and gaze at him for ages, just watching his chest go up and down, cataloguing the way his fingers curl, how his lashes rest on his cheeks…that this would be the closest thing to peace that she has found in years.

It warms her all through to see that Bobby seems to be similarly at peace, at least temporarily. She wishes they could just sit here all evening…but all too soon, her dad looks in on them.

“Alexandra? Dinner’s ready.”

She extricates herself from the couch reluctantly as Bobby unfolds himself from the floor. Behind her father’s back he mouths _Alexandra??_ She rolls her eyes at him, but is distracted by Owen twitching and squirming on the pillow.

“Uh-oh, somebody’s waking up…”

She waits to see if he’s going to settle again, and is secretly glad when he screws his face up and lets out a squawk, because that gives her an excuse to pick him up. Still half asleep, he’s soft and warm and heavy and he curls into her chest without hesitation, turning his face into her collarbone. She kisses the top of his head and bounces him gently, aware that she’s only got a few seconds before he wakes up the rest of the way and realizes he’s hungry, and then she’ll have to hand him over to Jen.

Bobby’s got that fascinated look again, which dissolves into amusement as Owen snorts and snuffles grumpily. Meeting his grin with one of her own, she speaks without thought.

“It’s good to see you smile.”

For a second he looks caught, then sheepish, but he holds her gaze. “You too,” he says softly, and she feels herself flush. But Owen picks that moment to graduate from baby grumbling to full-on crying, and her brother-in-law pokes his head around the door.

“Hey, you guys, spaghetti’s ready – it’s self-serve, and I’d recommend you get in there before Chris…whoa, it sounds like someone else is ready to eat too.”

“Yup,” Alex says “He wakes up hungry and grumpy, just like his uncles.”

“And his aunt,” says Bobby _sotto voce_. She stares at him, jaw dropping.

“Excuse me?!”

Mike whoops delightedly. Bobby gives her his best wide-eyed innocent look.

“Hey, I’ve been on late-night stakeouts with you, Eames.”

“Shut up,” she says, fighting another grin.

“Here, you,” she grumbles to Mike, who’s chuckling like a fiend, “take your offspring and feed him. I want my dinner.”

“The lady has spoken,” says her brother-in-law with mock deference, gathering Owen up in one large hand. “Come on, shrimp – Mommy’s got dinner for you too.”

As he disappears into the hallway, she punches her partner in the arm.

“Traitor!”

“Hey, you invited me here.”

“Yeah – on the understanding that you were too fried to do anything but eat and drink,” she says pointedly. “Not so you could gang up on me with my relatives!”

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, that’s all,” says her partner blandly. He gestures towards the dining room. “Shall we…?”

“I’ve created a monster,” she mutters, leading the way. But, hearing him chuckle again behind her, she’s all of a sudden overwhelmed with a wave of relief. _This is the first…easy…conversation we’ve had in weeks,_ she thinks. _Maybe this was a good idea after all._

_******_


	3. Chapter 3

_A quiet family dinner – right,_ Bobby thinks with some amusement. With seven adults, two kids and a baby crammed around a dining room table that was probably designed to seat about half that number… and, at last count, at least three different conversations going on simultaneously… _quiet_ is not exactly the word.

Eames catches his eye and grimaces apologetically. _It’s okay,_ he telegraphs back, with a lift of his shoulders and a small shake of the head. With some surprise he realizes that he means it: he’s actually enjoying himself. He finds he doesn’t mind the din – even welcomes it. It’s cheerful noise, at least, and it’s helping to drown out the part of his brain that’s still ticking over crime scene details and scrolling through web pages full of hate. And Eames and her family are providing a fascinating source of distraction…something new to think about, and that’s even more welcome than the noise, the food or the glass of Scotch that John Eames thrust into his hand earlier.

Not that they’re making any effort to distract him; in fact, as his partner promised, her family seems to be observing a sort of unspoken agreement _not_ to try and draw him out. Somehow he doesn’t feel excluded, though, or overly conspicuous – which is unusual for him, in this context. Lewis has occasionally talked him into Thanksgiving dinner, and he spent one ill-fated Easter weekend with Irene’s family when they were an item…and all those times, he ended up floating on the fringes, making awkward small talk and feeling as though the words DOESN’T BELONG are tattooed on his forehead.

It’s odd, he thinks, because in other social situations he’s perfectly capable of functioning. He actually likes meeting new people, likes asking them questions and building up their profiles in his head, figuring out how their minds work and what they’re passionate about.

But family dinners…they put him on edge. _Maybe it’s just that you had zero practice, growing up_ , he thinks bitterly. Or rather, far too much practice – too much first-hand knowledge of how a family can seem happy, and still have minefields of pain and cruelty and ugliness buried just beneath the surface. So much tension, all the time, and back then he could never be sure which word or gesture would trigger the explosion. He’s light-years away from that frightened boy now, but he hasn’t managed to turn off the hyper-awareness, the constant low-level dread.

But tonight – tonight, he’s more relaxed than he would have thought possible. Maybe it’s exhaustion – but he thinks it has more to do with the Eames clan themselves. _They’re a cop’s family_ , his partner had said, and maybe that’s partly why…he knows he won’t have to field friendly questions about what he does for a living, won’t have to worry about making the answers palatable to civilian ears. There’s a certain level of tacit understanding, of…acknowledgement, and it’s a relief.

Still… sitting here in the midst of them all, he should be tensed for the storm to break, but he’s not. And it’s not that this family is an exception to the rule, either – he can see that it has its share of tensions. For instance, it’s already abundantly clear to him that Alex and her younger siblings find their oldest brother’s wife somewhat less than a kindred spirit, and that Molly knows it and compensates by trying too hard to be friendly, which only succeeds in further irritating the rest. _Does her husband notice? He must. What does he do about it?_ Bobby hasn’t quite got a read on Chris yet – he’s at the other end of the table, telling his dad some story about a friend down at the firehall.

John Eames – _now there’s a man who went into retirement kicking and screaming_. Bobby wonders how much of the man’s subsequent lapse in judgement – being caught double-dipping – could be put down to frustration, a career cop sticking it to the bureaucracy that forced him out before he was ready to go. _He probably thought it would serve the City right, to be paying him twice. Didn’t think about what would happen if he got caught. Now he lives vicariously through his kids, or tries to – as much as they’ll let him. He’s proud of them, and also more than a little jealous, which probably comes out as over-protectiveness, and probably drives them up the wall. And,_ Bobby thinks inconsequentially, _he’s worried about his wife._ He watches Alex’s father watch her mother fumbling to butter a piece of bread, visibly restraining himself from offering to help. _She’s deteriorated a lot since her stroke – he knows it and she knows it but they don’t talk about it. They’d feel better if they could admit to each other that they’re afraid._

And Jen and Mike – well, they’re exhausted, of course, just like any other set of new parents. He’s surprised, though, by how relaxed they seem. He’s only met Jen once or twice before, and remembered her as bright, fun and… tightly wound, driven. Given how hard it has been for her to have a baby, how long the journey has been for her and Mike, he’d have expected them to be nervous with Owen, treating him like precious glass, never letting him out of their reach. And they are… _awestruck_ seems like the best word, or possibly _smitten_ …but they’re also happy to pass the baby around to be fussed over by everyone from his grandmother to his young cousins, ages eight and six; they’re also more likely to complain good-humouredly about late-night feedings and diaper-changing mishaps than to worry over the minute details of their son’s young life. There’s a deep undertone of gratitude, especially when Alex is part of the conversation, which he can tell makes her uncomfortable.

_And the old wounds aren’t totally healed,_ he thinks, remembering how Jen turned abruptly away, earlier, when Molly was going on at Alex about losing weight after her pregnancy. _There’s always going to be a loss there, something huge she didn’t get to experience._

So there are deep-running currents, sure. But underneath, there’s solid love and trust, like bedrock. He can feel it, see it in all their interactions. Unlike so many families he’s met over the years whose members seem almost like strangers except for the accident of blood, these people _know_ each other…which, Goren has no doubt, leads to some pretty spectacular fights on occasion…but he’s also certain that if some outside threat were to present itself, they’d close ranks in the blink of an eye.

It sheds new light on why Eames has always backed him up in front of others, even in the first rocky weeks of their partnership. Deakins had said to him early on, _if you cut Alex, she bleeds blue_. He’d been annoyed because it sounded to him like the Captain was implying some sort of bias on her part, and that was the last thing he wanted or needed in a partner, blind faith or the so-called “Blue Wall” of cop culture getting in the way of clear thinking. Of course, it had soon become obvious that there was nothing wrong with Eames’ thinking – as often as not, it was clearer than his. So then he’d thought she maintained the united front out of simple professionalism, or the desire to save face. Eventually, he’d realized that loyalty was one of the basic building blocks of her character…and now, three years later, he suddenly understands that on a much more visceral level. _How could she not be loyal and strong in her sense of herself_ , he thinks wistfully, _growing up in a family like this?_

He can also see how she got to be so quick-witted. Laughter, teasing, snappy retorts – they’re how this family shows affection, and he already knows from close to four years of partnership with Eames that sarcastic humour is also the mechanism of choice for coping with stress. _And they don’t suffer fools gladly,_ he decides. Eames would have had to be fast on her feet – both literally and figuratively – from early childhood on, to hold her own in this atmosphere. He grins inwardly, picturing her as a scrappy, skinny little kid going toe to toe with her brothers and her sister. They don’t strike him, any of them, as being very good at admitting weakness – in each other or in themselves. _Good to know she comes by that honestly, too,_ he thinks sardonically.

His wandering thoughts are interrupted by Molly, leaning across the table.

“So Alex, how has it been, getting back to work?”

Eames opens her mouth to reply – but Chris cuts in before she can get a word out.

“Wait, I bet I know…Goren, you can confirm if I’m right.”

_Uh oh – so much for being left to my own devices._

“Let’s see,” Chris continues jovially. “She’s chomping at the bit to get back on the job, and thus probably overdoing it, but she insists that she’s fine and bites your head off if you try to tell her to slow down. Come on, I’m right, aren’t I?”

_Pretty much dead on the money, friend._

“Well –

He stalls, but his hesitation tells the story for him.

“I knew it!” her brother crows amid general laughter. Eames smiles, but it looks forced. _Shit,_ he thinks. He tries to catch her eye, but she won’t look at him.

“I’d like to see you try giving birth and going back to work a month later,” she fires back at Chris. “See how cheerful _you_ are!”

“But you could have had a whole three months,” says Mrs. Eames gently. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t take the full leave the Department offered you.”

_Three months?_ She hadn’t told him that. He’d been so glad to have her back at work that he hadn’t questioned the timing of her return. He had no real idea of how long it took to recover from labour – _and you didn’t really look into it, did you?_

Eames is looking rebellious, which amuses him in spite of his sudden attack of guilt.

“I was going stir crazy, sitting at home,” she says evenly, and he can tell it’s not the first time she’s been through this with her family. “What would I have done for two more months?”

“If you think she’s cranky now…” says Mike slyly. Everyone laughs again, and Bobby sees Eames flash her brother-in-law a grateful look. He remembers, suddenly, that the two of them were friends before Mike and Jen met – were they at the Academy together? The details are vague in his mind, but he gets the feeling they’re often allies.

“We would have been happy to have you spend more time with us,” says Jen, rubbing Owen’s back.

Eames flinches just a little. “Oh – I know…and it’s not that I didn’t want to…” She reaches out and lets the baby grab her finger. “I just – I missed the job. I had to get back.”

Her eyes flick over to his, and he’s selfishly, guiltily glad. Her near-constant tiredness at work twists his heart with worry, but at the same time he’s been wrestling with impatience and resentment when she isn’t as quick to follow him as she might once have been. It used to be she wanted the solve as bad as he did, and she didn’t care how many late nights or weekends it took to get it. But now – well, there’s Owen, and she wants – needs – to spend time with him. He hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t reached the logical conclusion, that after birth the baby would remain a priority in Eames’ life. Hadn’t anticipated that he’d feel…jealous.

_That’s great, Goren. A new low, even for your impressive fear of abandonment._

That’s what it is, he realizes in a flash of clarity. The truth is, he’s never seen Eames look at anyone or anything the way she looks at Owen. She’s going somewhere new, some place where maybe he can’t follow, and a panicked, self-absorbed part of him is saying _what about me? What if she leaves me behind?_ Not literally, not professionally, but…

_It figures_ , he thinks bleakly. Just when he’d finally started to acknowledge how essential she was to him. Just when they’d started, maybe, to forge a new closeness, a different kind of friendship… but since her return to work she’s been so…short and impatient with him, and it’s clear that her priorities have shifted. Just how much…remains to be seen, and if he’s honest he’ll admit that it terrifies him – the prospect that she may have lost the desire or ability to be with him, that they’re not on the same page anymore…

“But don’t you think you’re pushing things too hard…?” Mrs. Eames is saying worriedly.

“Don’t fret, Susie.” John Eames speaks up for the first time. “James Deakins is a good man – he’ll keep an eye on her. So will Goren – right, Goren?”

_And that’s where Eames learned that thing she does with her eyebrows to make a friendly question come across like an oh-so-subtle threat_, Bobby thinks, amused in spite of himself. He meets her father’s eyes with perfect understanding.

“Yes, sir. Whether she likes it or not.”

“I don’t need to be monitored!” sputters Alex, glaring daggers at both of them in turn. He gazes back levelly, not backing down this time. _I shouldn’t have to apologize for caring, any more than your family does,_ he thinks at her – and maybe she picks up on it, because her eyes soften just a little.

_Maybe it’ll be all right,_ he thinks, flashing back to the living room, earlier that evening…seeing again the open affection in her eyes, the way she smiled at him over Owen’s head, the teasing that felt so familiar even if the context was totally new. _If we can just get back to that at work…I can handle the rest._

He’ll carry away a vivid picture of how she looked, leaning over the baby on the couch…so relaxed, more at peace than he can ever recall seeing her before. _She deserves that – she deserves every bit of joy that comes to her. You can bloody well suck it up and stop being so grouchy when she clocks out at five pm on the dot, or when she gripes a bit about coming in on her day off. And you can stop pining for the more open, more…accessible…Eames you were starting to get to know before she came back to work. Just be happy that she IS back._

_And hope that she stays._


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, that went way better than I was afraid it would_ , Alex thinks as she pulls out of Jen’s driveway. Beside her, Bobby is quiet, staring out the passenger window again. She wonders what he’s thinking.

“Hey, Bobby?” He turns his head towards her. “Sorry about dinner turning into such a circus – I didn’t know all those people were going to be there.”

“It’s okay – I’m glad I came. I like your family.”

She snorts. “That’s more than I can say, some days.”

In her peripheral vision, he waves a hand at her, his standard _I don’t buy it_ gesture.

“Oh please, Eames. They drive you nuts, but you love them.” She can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” she says after a second, taken aback by how… _sure_ of her he sounds. “Yeah, I do.”

_He’s probably got me pegged six ways from Sunday now, with all the material I’ve given him tonight,_ she thinks, feeling …exposed. _But…if it helps us get back in sync…and he’d never take advantage. Would he?_

She concentrates on driving, and tries not to think too hard about how comfortable it felt, having him there with her family tonight.

“Jen seemed a lot…calmer… than I remember. Steadier,” Bobby says suddenly, into the silence.

They’re stopped at an intersection, and she almost forgets to accelerate when the light goes green - she’s too busy gazing at him in amazement.

“And you’ve spoken to my sister what, maybe two or three times before?” She shakes her head ruefully. “Not that I should be surprised.” Then,

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I don’t think I truly realized how badly she wanted a child, until I saw her with Owen, after he was born…saw the difference in her, how she is – just in general.”

“She’s happy,” says Bobby, but there’s a question in it.

“Sure, but it’s more than that,” Alex says slowly. “It’s as if…a part of her was…missing, before, and now that she has Owen she just – copes better with everything, somehow. I mean, she was a wonderful, smart, competent, loving woman with a full life before she was a mom…but I guess – I don’t know, it makes me wonder if some people are just _meant_ to do certain things, and something’s always going to be…off kilter, until they find a way.”

Bobby considers this. She sneaks a glance sideways; he’s leaning back in his seat, eyes sleepy. _He looks relaxed,_ she thinks with relief. _I hope he’ll sleep tonight after all._

“It’s possible, I guess,” he says. “It’d be different things for different people, obviously…maybe even different things at different times in one person’s life…although I have to say, I’ve never been too keen on the idea of fate, or predestination.”

“Me neither. I like to think I make my own choices, thank you very much. But…” She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Silence for a few blocks, and she figures he’s drifted away, back into his own thoughts. But then,

“It’s how I felt when I transferred to Major Case,” he offers. “Like I was…finally in the right place.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, after I got settled in.” Eyes on the road, she feels rather than sees the sheepish grin he shoots in her direction. She rolls her eyes.

“I remember.” _Oh boy, do I. Talk about a rocky start – our problems lately are nothing compared to back then. God, that feels like a long time ago. So weird to think of a time when we were strangers to each other…_

Bobby continues. “I mean – in Narcotics, I was good…really good at what I did. Lots of people thought that’s where I belonged – even me, for a while. But running those undercover ops – the lines get so blurry. Before you know it you’re acting like the bad guys, and it’s all in the service of the bust so it’s justifiable…I don’t know. It was just too easy to – get lost, I guess. I don’t do so well without…boundaries. Clear structures.”

“So what you’re saying,” she says drily, “is that you actually _like_ having the Captain and the DA haul you over the coals on a regular basis.”

_Problem with authority, my ass. You are so busted, my friend…_

“Yeah,” he agrees with a small, rueful laugh. “Or at least, I think it’s necessary, for me. To have lines drawn like that.”

She thinks about that, negotiating a difficult left turn. It feels like this conversation is turning into something different, something important – like maybe they might get somewhere if they pursue it, but she’s damned if she knows where that is…and before she can figure it out, they’re pulling up in front of his building. _Damn._

Bobby unbuckles his seatbelt, and she tries to think of something to say that won’t sound completely trivial. A bright, cheerful _So - see you at work tomorrow_ just doesn’t seem…enough, after the way they’ve just been talking.

“It’s not just Deakins and Carver,” her partner says abruptly, his voice a little too loud in the uncomfortable silence. Distracted, she rewinds the past few minutes in her mind, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. Then he tells her.

“I mean, the reason I feel like I’m in the right place – it’s mostly you.”

And just like that, she’s struck speechless. Painfully grateful that it’s dark, that he can’t see the blood that has rushed to her face, the way her heart has lodged in her throat.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he continues awkwardly. “I just – want you to know. I guess I didn’t really realize it till you were gone, which sounds like such a cliché, but…and we’ve – well, since you got back things have been…difficult. So…I just want to say that I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve been…pushing you. Or – or asking for something that you can’t give.”

“Bobby,” she starts to say, helplessly. “You aren’t – you haven’t –

“No, wait,” he cuts her off, moving uncomfortably in his seat, _and when did this car get so damn small?_ she wonders, trying to take a deep breath without missing a word of what he’s saying.

“I need you to know - it’s only because I’ve been so – eager to get back to…to working with you. I didn’t know – didn’t realize how much things have changed for you – with Owen, and everything. But – seeing you with your family…I understand better, now…and, well, the last thing I want is to get in the way.”

_Oh, Bobby._

Since the last month or so of her pregnancy, she’s been slowly getting used to the feeling of being submerged, knocked down by waves of emotion that leave her shaky and vulnerable. She’d thought it was only Owen who could do this to her – twist her heart with this strange combination of joy and pain, as though light is shining into corners of her soul that have been dark for years. _But apparently someone else is on that short list._

She flails mentally, desperate to make him understand…to ease the loneliness she can clearly hear echoing underneath his words.

“You haven’t been getting in the way,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, and she cringes inwardly at how inadequate it sounds.

_ot the time for pat, comforting answers. Don’t screw this up – it’s too important._

She takes a deep breath and tries again, twisting in her seat to try to see his face.

“Look, Bobby…yes, things have changed. I’ve changed,” she says slowly. “I’m still figuring out how to deal with – with a lot of things. And it means a lot…a _lot_ …to know that you see – that you understand.”

He glances at her, and then quickly away, and she can feel how tense he is. _He’s waiting for a “But…”_ she realizes. The need to reassure him is instinctive, urgent, and before she’s even conscious of any decision to do so, she’s reaching out to curl her fingers around his, stilling their tapping against his knee. He freezes, his eyes locking to hers. She lifts her chin, wills herself not to look away.

“I need you to understand something, okay? Wherever I end up, with all this change…I want you to be there,” she says as clearly as she can.

“I want us to be working together…I want us to be friends.” At that, she feels his whole body relax, all of a sudden, and tries not to shiver. “I just – I’ve really missed you.”

For a long second he stares at her hand covering his. Then, slowly, he turns his palm up and squeezes her fingers. “Likewise,” he says, and she can tell from his voice that he’s as overwhelmed by feeling as she is.

Then he looks up, and before she knows what he’s doing, he lifts her hand and drops a lightening-quick, soft kiss on her thumb knuckle.

“Thank you,” he says, and his shy smile makes her feel just a little bit dizzy.

She shakes her head, embarrassed. _I will not squirm. I will not._

“Are we okay, then?” she checks. He nods, eyes soft, and she takes her hand back reluctantly, looking away and smiling at the steering wheel.

“I should warn you – I’m probably still going to be a bitch to work with for a while.”

He laughs, more freely than he has in weeks.

“That’s all right. I’m no picnic myself, or so I’ve been told.” Then, serious again, “It’ll be okay, Eames. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, we will.” And she really believes it, for the first time in far too long.

_We’re back_ , she thinks on a wave of relief, as he says good night and gets out of her car. When he gets to the doorstep he stops and looks back, and gives her a funny little wave.

_We’ll never be quite the same as before…but maybe that’s a good thing. So many new beginnings – why not one for us, too?_

She lifts her hand to him, and as he turns to go inside she can see that he’s smiling. She laughs out loud in her turn, alone in the dark, for gratitude and sudden, simple happiness.

*****

_Now we’re back in the fight_

_We’re back on the train_

_Back on the chain gang…_

\-- The Pretenders

THE END

**Author’s Note: “Back on the Chain Gang” is actually a pretty angry song…but I thought I’d put a more positive spin on it, at the end. ;)**


End file.
